Gem and I whispered and giggled the night away. There was no sleeping with such a cute guy in the room. Every so often, we sat up and looked to see if he was asleep, then threw ourselves back on our pillows in a renewed fit of giggles. He was always in the same position—propped up on one elbow looking up at us and smiling. He never said a word unless we addressed him directly.
Sometime near dawn, we fell asleep. When we awoke, rather grumpy with our hangovers, we went our separate ways agreeing to meet again that night at Tom’s place. Gem and I spent the day together, groaning over our hangovers and arguing about whether Tom was attracted to me. Gem felt he was; I was sure he wasn’t. After supper, still suffering with our deadly tequila hangovers, we knocked on their apartment door. Again, Dalton answered the door and invited us in. Tom was sitting in the recliner, this time dressed in jeans and a t-shirt. After Dalton took our coats, we sat in exactly the same places we had the night before. Tom got up, came over and squatted beside me. My heart literally stopped. While looking up at me, he asked how we were feeling after our bout with tequila. His answer to our groans was to produce some vile looking concoction guaranteed to cure any hangover. With some persuasion, he got us to drink it. It did the trick and before long, we were ready to party the night away.
The night proceeded in a similar fashion to the previous night with one small exception. Only Tom came home with me. And again I showed him to the mattress on the floor. Sometime during the night, he ended up in my bed. The sex wasn’t anything spectacular, but I was jubilant. A few kisses, some tentative exploring with his hands until he discovered how wet I was, then in up to the hilt. A few thrusts later and he came. I expected nothing else having experienced nothing else.
One of the cutest guys I’d ever met had wanted me, me. And he’d chosen me over Gem. Poor Gem, bless her soul. As it ended up, she got stuck with Dalton, who’s closest living relative was a orangatang, but she made the supreme sacrifice for my sake. After all, what are friends for, she later told me.
Sunday was pretty much a blur for me. We woke late and had something to eat. I was expecting company that afternoon. A woman I’d met during a history class I audited named Sib and her roommate, Red. I kid you not. Her real name was Dorcas but she was known to one and all as Red. I expected Tom to leave but not only did he stay, he sat and cuddled me while they visited, acting as if we’d been an item for some time. Although this came as a surprise to me and I was unsure how to behave, it was also one of the crowning moments of my life. Both Sib and Red were absolutely green with envy. Red, especially, could not stop asking about us—how we’d met, how long we’d known each other, etc. Tom played right along with this, fabricating a story with great ease. I simply sat beside him in shock, and stared. I couldn’t believe my good fortune. Having a man stick around was a new experience for me. Usually one-night stands made tracks as soon as humanly possible after the sex, if you could call the type of wham-bam I had grown used to sex, that is. And he was a dream to look at and listen to. So I just sat back in tired silence and basked in the soft wisps of his light brown hair, the sparkle of humour in his baby-blue eyes, the bedroom tenor of his voice, and all his other outstanding attributes. Although my silence did raise some suspicion, Tom easily explained it away by chatting about our very “busy” night. It was not our most exciting visit, and they left around 5:00 p.m.
Tom and I spent that evening listening to music and cuddling. I was very tired and rapidly getting depressed. My ruminations were of the negative variety as they usually were where men were concerned. My wonder weekend was almost at a close, and I was sure that Tom would vanish from my life. After all, this had simply been a one-night stand, I told myself. No strings attached. There was no reason for him to ever see me again. He’d gotten what he wanted, and it wasn’t like we knew each other or anything. Besides, we probably had nothing in common anyway. After all, he was a mechanic of the very blue-collar variety, and I was an intellectual of the upper middle-class variety. On and on the thoughts drifted through the sludge of my alcohol-bruised brain.
Since Tom had to rise early for work and I was completely worn out, we went to bed at a decent hour and simply slept. Monday morning, he woke at 5:00 a.m., quickly dressed and took his leave telling me he’d call me soon. In a way typical of my low self-esteem, I assured him that he didn’t have to try to make me feel better. After all, I told him, he had no obligation where I was concerned. I was a grown girl and knew what I’d gotten myself into….